


Bank Robbers and Cutpurses

by DarkestSight (Daylight)



Series: Oh Captain, My Captain [6]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, Hurt Leonard Snart, Hurt Rip Hunter, RipFic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/DarkestSight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rip Hunter, Leonard Snart, a concussion, a broken ankle, and a time pirate prison cell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place between episodes 1x12 and 1x13 ie after the team rescues their younger selves but before they go to 2166.
> 
> The draft is done (about 13,000 words, 4 chapters and an epilogue) so don't worry about it being finished but don't expect it to be posted too quickly. I'm a slow nitpicky editor and I keep adding and rewriting bits.

Rip felt as if he'd been through a millennium long time jump. A sharp spike of pain was drilling through the side of his skull and radiating throughout his entire body. His vision was blurring in and out, and even sitting on the floor as he was, the world seemed to tilt and spin at odd angles making his stomach lurch. There were other aches too, a throbbing in his left wrist, a twinge in his right hip, a burning in his ribs, but they barely registered beneath the all-consuming pain in his head. 

From somewhere behind him, a voice penetrated the painful haze, a lazy, American drawl that was annoyingly familiar. 

“You know why I don't like you?” said Leonard Snart.

Rip swallowed and blinked several times. The world seemed to settle somewhat and come into focus. He became aware of ropes tied tightly around his wrists and ankles, thick coils of rough rope which bit into his skin. There was also rope wrapped around his middle and a warm back pressed against his own. He felt the muscles in the back move as the person shifted slightly.

“No really,” said Snart, his movements yanking on the rope which bound them together. “You know why?”

Rip took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Is now really the best time to be asking such questions?” he said, his voice frustratingly scratchy and weak. He swallowed once more.

Snart's back shifted again, a shrug possibly. “It's not like we've got anything else to pass the time.”

Moving his head as gingerly as possible, Rip gazed around the room they were in. There wasn't much to see: gray metal walls, a gray metal ceiling, a gray metal floor. All covered by a collection of dark stains both disturbing and ominous. The only thing of any real distinction was the door, or rather the thick metal bars which stood in for a door. Nothing much could be seen on the other side of them but another gray wall.

“Maybe we could spend our time trying to find a way out of here and away from these pirates,” Rip snapped back.

How they'd actually gotten there was a bit hazy for Rip. He remembered attempting to take the team to a safe haven, somewhere they would be safe from the Time Masters for a while, only to find that what had once been a haven was now a hangout for time pirates, several of which, unfortunately, had a certain grudge against him. There had been a fight, of course. He and Mr. Snart had gotten separated from the rest of the team. He remembered seeing Snart go down, trying to reach him, and then something hitting him hard on the side of his head. After that things got a lot dimmer. He had a vague memory of being dragged somewhere while Snart complained loudly to anyone who was listening and another of being tossed into this cell, but the rest of the memories seemed to have slipped from his grasp.

“I'm working on it,” said Snart. “Trust me. Breaking out of prisons is my speciality.”

“I wonder why that is,” Rip muttered. 

He tried to twist his wrists testing the bonds that tied them together but they were unmovable. All he managed to do was make them dig deeper into his skin. The pirates obviously found something perversely amusing about tying up their prisoners in such an archaic fashion. Giving up, Rip let his hands fall back into his lap and closed his eyes. The pain in his head was relentless and even the dim light of the prison cell made it worse.

“So are you going to answer my question?” asked Snart.

Groaning, Rip opened his eyes once more. For a moment, he had no idea what Snart was talking about, and then he remembered. Why Snart was bringing up the subject or why he had chosen such a time to pursue it, Rip couldn't fathom. It wasn’t as if it was a surprise that Snart didn’t like him. The man had never really done anything to hide his animosity.

“I assume,” Rip said, “it's because you dislike people telling you what to do.”

“That's true,” admitted Snart. “But that's not the main reason.”

“Well, I sincerely hope it's not because of the way I lied to you when you first joined the team. That would be more than a little hypocritical coming from you.” 

“I suppose it would be. Can't blame a man for doing what he needs to do to get what he wants.”

The words stung, but Rip pushed the guilt aside. He didn't have the time or the energy to deal with it. “Alright,” he said. “I give up. Why don't you like me?”

“Because though you act like you're some high and mighty hero out to save the world, the truth is you're just like me.”

Rip's face crumpled into a frown. “What?” he said, and then he nearly fell over as the ropes around his middle went slack and the back he'd been leaning against suddenly vanished. He managed to catch himself before he ended up on the ground, but the sudden movement did nothing to help his head.

As Rip attempted to regain his equilibrium, Snart appeared beside him, his bonds miraculously gone.

“How...?” Rip asked in confusion.

Snart smirked and twirled a small knife around in his fingers.

“Didn't the pirates take all our weapons before they threw us in here?” Rip vaguely recalled something like that happening. His revolver was certainly missing, along with his coat for some reason.

“Oh, they did,” said Snart with a nod.

“And they just happened to miss that knife.”

“They found it alright. I just stole it back.”

Rip rolled his eyes. Well, he admitted to himself, there had been a reason he'd recruited Snart in the first place, and in this case, it was certainly proving useful.

Snart shuffled around on his knees until he was in front of Rip and quickly cut through the ropes binding his hands and ankles. As Rip rubbed his wrists trying to restore the circulation to his fingers, he caught Snart giving him an odd look he couldn't quite decipher.

“What?” he asked.

“Your head is bleeding,” Snart said, his tone as bland as if he was commenting on the weather.

Rip reached up and tentatively touched the left side of his head. Even the gentle touch made him wince. There was certainly blood, tacky, half-dried blood that caked a good portion of that side of his head. It was hard to tell how bad it was from touch alone and he thought that was probably a good thing.

“It'll be fine,” he said though he didn't sound particularly convincing even to himself. “We need to get out of here.”

“Great idea, Captain,” Snart responded, wryly. “And exactly how do you propose we do that?”

Rip gave him an exasperated look. “Let's start by figuring out how to get through this door, shall we. Then hopefully we can make a quick escape out of whatever this place is.”

“Yeah, there might be a slight problem with the whole quick escape part,” said Snart.

“And what's that?” asked Rip growing increasingly tired by Snart's snide attitude.

“I'm pretty sure my ankle's busted.”

Rip blinked. He gazed at Snart only now noticing the odd way he was kneeling, one leg pushed awkwardly to the side. “How bad?”

“Let's say it's not great.”

Briefly, Rip considered asking Snart whether he could examine the injured joint in question, but decided the chance of Snart reacting positively to that were remote. Instead, he said, “Try putting some weight on it.”

Snart gave him a look which showed just how stupid he thought that suggestion was, but he half crawled, half shuffled over to the door and used the bars to help get to his feet placing all his weight on his uninjured foot. Once upright, he took a cautious step forward. Immediately, he stumbled, his hand grabbing the bars again for support. He didn't make a sound, but his jaw clenched and his face went several shades paler. 

“Snart...” Rip began, but Snart put up a finger putting a stop to whatever it was Rip had intended to say. 

Badly sprained at best, Rip surmised. Knowing Snart's high pain threshold, the man had shattered his own hand after all, the ankle could quite possibly be broken.

“Got any more bright ideas?” Snart hissed through gritted teeth.

“We're still getting out of here,” Rip insisted. “We'll just have to do it a bit slower.”

“Obviously.”

“Let's take a look at that door,” said Rip ignoring the sarcasm. 

It was his turn to stand and he did so, though perhaps a tad too quickly considering the circumstances. His body put up only minor protests as he got to his feet, but his head... The pain he'd been trying to ignore redoubled and the world spun around him. He managed to take a couple staggering steps towards Snart and the door before the darkness began creeping in at the edges of his vision and his legs gave out beneath him. He fell forward as consciousness vanished once more. 

A short while later, Rip let out a groan as awareness began to return. He was surprised to discover that he wasn't, as he'd anticipated, lying crumpled in a painful heap on the floor. He was being held up by a pair of arms. In his hazy state of reawakening, he couldn't quite figure out whose arms they were.

“You puke on me and you'll wish I let you hit the floor.”

Mr. Snart's, of course, he realized grimacing, and sincerely wished the man hadn't mentioned puking as he felt his stomach roll. He swallowed the bile that rose to his throat and took a couple of slow breaths. When he had regained enough of his equilibrium, he carefully righted himself pushing away from Snart.

“Uh, thank you,” he said awkwardly.

“Nice concussion you've got there,” said the crook. He was still standing with all his weight on one leg having braced himself against the door in order to take Rip's weight too.

“It'll be fine,” Rip said realizing he was repeating himself.

“Sure, it will,” said Snart.

Ignoring him, Rip peered through the bars as best he could. All he could see on the other side was an empty corridor going left and right. “No guards,” he observed. “That's lucky.”

“Or unlucky,” countered Snart. “If there'd been a guard, we might have been able to trick him into letting us out. Where do you think they all are?”

“Hopefully, they're busy dealing with the rest of the team,” said Rip. He didn't voice the worry in the back of his mind that the rest of the team were trapped in cells similar to this one.

“Should we wait for them to spring us?” 

Rip gave him a look. “You of all people seriously want to wait around for help to arrive?”

“No,” Snart replied with a smirk. “I just wanted to see if you did.”

Rip sighed and turned to examine the doorway. The bars that covered it were made of a thick and undoubtedly unbreakable metal. They went straight from the top of the door into the floor. Some sort of mechanism must cause them to slide up into the wall, Rip realized. They just needed to figure out how to trigger it. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, there didn't seem to be any controls on their side of the door. 

Snart leaned casually against the wall crossing his arms over his chest. “There's a control panel on the other side to the left.”

Slipping an arm through the bars, Rip felt along the other side of the wall until he felt the smooth surface of the panel. Something beeped as he hit one of the buttons. Unfortunately from this angle, he couldn't actually see the panel. If he only knew what it looked like...

“The thing's about four inches by six inches with a nine digit number pad, black numerals on white buttons. There are three more buttons at the bottom, red buttons with some symbols I didn't recognize. The background is black and the whole thing is outlined in fluorescent green.”

Rip stared at Snart.

“I'm very observant,” Snart said with a shrug. “Not sure what good it's going to do us. The thing's a little after my time.”

“Yes, and it's a little before mine,” said Rip. “But I think I know how to bypass it.” Hopefully, the system the pirates were using was the one he thought it was. The description certainly matched. He had dealt with the system a few times before so he knew how it worked. Now, he just had to somehow deal with it without actually being able to see what he was doing. 

Snart raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Really,” Rip echoed. “Despite what you might think, Mr. Snart. I am not completely without skill.” 

“I never said you were,” replied Snart. “I just find it interesting that one of those skills happens to involve getting through locked doors.”

Rip just gave him an exasperated look and held out his hand. “Your knife.”

Snart handed over the knife and Rip took it slipping his arm between the bars once more. It was an awkward affair, but he managed to wedge the tip of the knife into the seam between the panel and the wall and pry the thing off. The panel fell to the floor with a loud clatter. 

Rip froze. He and Snart stayed silent for several moments, but no one appeared to check out the source of the noise.

“If this were my crew,” said Snart, “some people would be in for a serious beat down leaving a couple prisoners unguarded like this.”

“Maybe they thought tying us up and putting us in a locked cell would be enough,” said Rip. “Just be grateful for small mercies.” 

He ran his fingertips over the wires and circuits inside the panel. It seemed to have the standard set up. He tried to picture how it should look in his mind, but the continuous pounding in his head was making it hard to concentrate. Bringing up the knife once more, he got to work slicing and rearranging various wires praying that he was hitting the right ones. The last step involved tripping several circuits. He managed to get the first two but the last one eluded him. He couldn't seem to get the tip of the knife in the right spot. Sweat began beading on his forehead and his arm and wrist ached from being in such an awkward position. He tried again and missed. He growled in frustration. None of this was helping the pain in his head. He wished it would let up a moment so he could think. Eventually, the pain became too much and with the vertigo and nausea threatening to return, he pulled his arm back inside and knelt on the floor.

“Giving up?” Snart enquired.

“I just need to rest a moment,” Rip replied with a shaky breath.

“You're not going to pass out again, are you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

A minute or two passed in silence as Rip sat there staring at the floor concentrating on his breathing as he willed the pain in his head to die down.

“You know it took me a while to figure it out,” said Snart who was keeping a watch on the empty corridor on the other side of the bars.

“Figure out what?” Rip asked, wearily.

“Why I don't like you,” said Snart. “Despite the obvious that is.”

Rip cast his eyes towards the ceiling. “Oh, so we're back on this again, are we?”

“I knew the moment we met that you were more than some time travelling, British cowboy out to save the world,” Snart continued undeterred. “You were too ready and willing to make the cold blooded decisions, do what needed to be done regardless of the moral implications.”

“Is there a point to all this?” Rip demanded.

“The fact you lied to get us to come along was my first clue, but it wasn't the last. There was the way you kept putting the fate of the mission above the lives of your team, the way you were willing to consider things like killing a kid an okay price for saving the world, but I wasn't able to put all the pieces together until we got to meet the younger you.”

Rip turned to glare at Snart.

“Cutpurse is just a fancy name for pickpocket.” Snart gave him one of his lopsided smirks. “This whole time it turns out you're a thief and a criminal just like me.”

“Was a thief,” Rip snapped. “There's a difference.”

“Once a thief, always a thief.” Snart cocked his head to the side. “Though I suppose robbing banks and picking pockets isn't quite the same thing. Personally these days I generally avoid anything under a hundred grand.” He paused a moment; then added, “Unless I can get a good kick out of it,” and after a second pause, “or if I'm bored.”

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Rip got back up and pushed his arm through the bars so he could work on the control panel once more. The sooner he got them out of there the sooner he'd be away from Snart and his sudden need to personally analyze him.

“Of course, it's not the fact you're a thief that bugs me,” Snart continued. “It's the fact that you go around pretending you're some big hero, acting like you're better than me and Mick.”

“I never said...” Rip grunted as he pushed his arm further through the bars trying to get the knife in the right spot. “...I was a hero.”

He felt the knife connect and the switch move; then suddenly the bars shot upward. So suddenly that it pushed Rip backwards causing him to lose his balance. It would have knocked him right off his feet if Snart hadn't caught him again.

“Let's not make a habit of this,” said Snart.

Rip groaned. Getting his feet back under him, he removed himself from Snart and handed the man back his knife, ignoring the smug expression on his face. Taking a step through the door, he did a quick scan of the corridor. It was empty.

“Alright,” he said talking half to himself. “Now which way...” He hadn't exactly been conscious enough to note the direction they'd come in.

“Right,” said Snart who obviously had been conscious. “But we'll be sitting ducks without our weapons.”

“Did you see where they put them?”

“I saw where the guy took them. We’ll pass it on the way out, but it’s a long way between here and there.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky,” Rip said, unconvincingly, “we’ll find something else we can use before then.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” said Snart.

“Frankly, neither do I,” said Rip. “Come on.” He took a couple of steps down the corridor only to be stopped by Snart.

“You forgetting something,” the crook called out behind him.

Turning back, Rip saw Snart hadn't followed him into the corridor. The man gestured to his foot and Rip cursed himself. He had forgotten about Snart's ankle. 

“Right.” Rip grimaced. This was a complication he could really do without. Returning to the cell and Snart, he raised an arm to take ahold of him, but the man dodged out of the way, a wary look in his eyes.

“What exactly are you planning to do?” he asked.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to carry you,” said Rip, “but if you lean on me, I can get you out of here.”

Snart snorted. “That’s your great plan?”

“Unless you’d rather stay.”

Snart scowled and Rip gritted his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t decide whether Snart was being difficult because he disliked needing help or because he disliked needing help from him. Whichever it was, there wasn’t time for this, not if they were going to get out of there alive. Rip was ready to snap at Snart again, but there was something about the way he stood, eyes narrowed, body shrunken back, one hand clutching tightly to the doorway. There was something almost vulnerable about it, like a trapped wild animal, which made Rip tame his temper and swallow the insults he’d been about to send Snart’s way.

“It’s the only way,” he said, tiredly. 

Leonard looked away letting out a loud sigh of resignation.

Taking that as a sign of acceptance, Rip wrapped an arm around his back. He felt Snart’s body stiffen as he touched him. He tried not to take it personally, but he wished the man would at least trust him after all this time even if he didn’t like him.

Snart placed a reluctant arm across Rip's shoulders, letting go of the wall and slowly shifting his weight onto the former Time Master.

“If it’s any consolation, Mr. Snart,” said Rip as they took their first, awkward step together, “I’m not terribly fond of you either.”


	2. Chapter 2

Their progress down the corridor was slow and awkward. Arms wrapped around each other, they tried to find some sort of rhythm in their walk, but all they achieved was an uneven, staggering gait, barely managing to move in a straight line. Rip really hoped the time pirates were occupied elsewhere because with the amount of noise he and Snart were making, they had no hope in hell of sneaking by anyone.

Snart's ankle was definitely broken. Rip became more and more convinced of this as the former crook hobbled along. The man still insisted on placing some weight on his bad foot despite how painful it must be, and Rip knew it must be painful because each time Snart took a step, he would stumble slightly and his breath would catch. As they made their way down the corridor, Snart's skin grew paler and clammier, and despite his efforts to hide it, his face became fixed in a permanent wince. Rip was tempted to mention just how much of an idiot the man was being, but he had a feeling that if he did, it would only make things worse, so instead he remained silent and kept an eye out for pirates.

The corridor, however, remained empty. Where the time pirates had gone Rip had no clue. He kept expecting them to appear at any moment, but none did and it left him worried. The barred entrances of more prison cells lined the corridor and Rip wondered what sort of building they were in. It definitely wasn't something the pirates had constructed. Time pirates never made things. They just stole them. From what Rip could make of the place’s bland, industrial décor, the technology it used, and its numerous prison cells, he guessed it was some sort of abandoned military base, or at least, he hoped it had been abandoned before the pirates commandeered it. He didn’t what to think of how powerful the pirates would have had to have been to have taken it by force.

Each time they passed a cell, Rip would peer through the bars to see if anyone was inside, but they all appeared to be empty. Someone would have probably called out by now if they hadn't been, having heard Rip and Snart's clumsy escape attempt, but Rip kept checking them just in case. He was half relieved, half disappointed to not find any of their teammates. He was glad the others were free, but had to admit that given the state he and Snart were in, having another of their team there would have been extremely useful. At the rate they were going, Rip wasn’t sure they’d even make it safely down the corridor.

They didn't.

After they’d gone a dozen meters or so, Snart stumbled badly. Rip tightened his hold on Snart trying to keep him upright as he lurched forward, but unfortunately, Rip's concussion had left him with a certain amount of vertigo and the sudden shift of Snart’s weight threw him off balance. Rip tried to regain it, but was hampered by Snart own efforts to right himself. There was a brief amount of floundering and flailing, and then they both ended up sprawled in a tangled heap on the floor.

Cursing, they disentangled themselves and lay there groaning.

“When we tell the others about this,” said Snart, breathlessly, “let's leave this part out.”

“Agreed,” said Rip, grimacing.

The sudden fall hadn't helped the pain in his head and he clutched at it as he slowly pushed himself to his knees. He shifted over so he could sit with his back against one side of the corridor while he waited for the pain to die back down. On the other side of the corridor, Snart moved to a similar position against the opposite wall, but instead of clutching his head, the man clasped both hands around his right ankle, his jaw tight with tension.

“You alright?” Rip asked.

“Just peachy,” said Snart, the strain evident in his voice. “This was a stupid idea.”

Rip let out a humorless chuckle. “And you have a better one?”

Snart tilted his head to the side, derision in his gaze. "Well, I'd suggest leaving me here and getting help, but that would be assuming you'd actually come back for me."

Rip bristled unsure if Snart were being serious or just baiting him. "I don't abandon members of my crew."

"Unless, of course, it threatens the mission or your precious timeline," said Snart, snidely, "And I really doubt you consider my life a priority."

The words were like a slap across Rip's face. In some ways he would have preferred a slap. Had he failed so badly as a captain that his crew thought that way? Just because they had a tendency to infuriate him didn't mean he didn't care about them. Though he might not like Mr. Snart, he was still a member of his crew, his responsibility. A dark part of Rip wondered if Snart was right, if he would really place his mission, his family ahead of the lives of his crew, but he quickly squashed that thought.

Using the wall for support, Rip got to his feet. He walked over to Snart and gazed down at him. “I'm not leaving you behind,” he said, putting as much conviction as he could behind the words.

Snart narrowed his eyes at him, his expression dubious but thoughtful, for once without a wiseass comeback.

"Come on," said Rip, offering his hand.

Snart grasped Rip's hand and let him haul him to his feet. Once Snart was upright, Rip placed his arm around his waist once more and Snart in turn put his arm over Rip's shoulders.

"Remind me not to get in any three-legged races with you," Snart said as they continued on, but at least this time he was willing to let Rip take more of his weight, his hobble turning into more of a hop.

On their second attempt, they made it all the way to the end of the corridor and turned left into another. This corridor was shorter and lined with a series of closed doors instead of cell bars. At the end was a lift.

“There,” said Snart pointing towards it. “We need to take that elevator. We're about two levels below ground and no way am I climbing any stairs.”

They took a few more stumbling steps towards the lift, but then Snart abruptly stopped. It threw Rip off balance and nearly sent them both back to the floor. Rip was about to curse out Snart when he felt it. Every single muscle in Snart's back had grown tense. Holding onto him as Rip was, it was easy to feel. Snart had good instincts. Rip had learned to trust them on occasion and he, somewhat grudgingly, decided to trust them now. Stifling the protest he’d been about to voice, he stopped and listened.

There was a sharp mechanical hum in the air and it was rapidly growing louder. The lift, Rip realized. Someone was coming.

Without bothering to speak, they both dove for the nearest door. Thankfully, it proved unlocked. Rip yanked it open and they tumbled through almost crashing into a pile of crates they found on the other side. It was some sort of storage room filled with stacked containers of various sizes and shelves loaded with various goods. As soon as Rip regained his feet, he quickly turned to shut the door. As he closed it, he heard the doors of the lift slide open. He held his breath praying that whoever was inside hadn't seen the door close.

Outside, two pairs of heavy footsteps could be heard entering the corridor accompanied by a pair of voices, one rough and deep, the other high and breathy.

“...really. He's got a whole crate stashed down here,” said the high voice.

“He'd better. I'm out of the good stuff and I ain't drinking that shit we picked up in 2028,” said the deep voice.

“It's not that bad.”

“Wouldn't even feed it to the damn prisoners unless we wanted to drown them in it. Is this it?” 

The footsteps drew closer, and then stopped right outside the room Rip and Snart were currently hiding in.

Rip spun around gazing at Snart in alarm and saw the same look of consternation on the man's face as he knew must be on his. Snart grumbled something under his breath and pulled out his knife bracing himself against a large crate. Rip in his turn positioned himself so he would be behind the door when it opened. They only had a moment to meet each others' eyes and exchange nods, a mutual agreement to their unvoiced strategy, before the door swung open.

Into the room strode a short, dark skinned man dressed in tattered black clothes. He spotted Snart almost immediately.

“Hey, what they hell are you doing in here?” he demanded.

Snart smirked at him. He was leaning casually against the crate as if he were relaxing instead of needing it to stay upright. “I don't know,” he said. “I guess I just like the ambiance of the place.”

A tall, pale man with shaggy hair pushed past the short man into the room. “That's one of the prisoners!”

“Obviously,” said Snart. 

“How the hell did he escape?” asked the short man.

“Way too easily,” Snart replied. “I've got to say I'm sorely disappointed. I was expecting a lot more from a bunch of high-tech pirates. Instead the sorry state of your operations is giving criminals like me a bad name.”

Neither man looked pleased by Snart's comments.

“Grab him,” ordered the tall man. “We've got to get him back in the cell before...”

He didn't get to finish his sentence because as the pair took a step towards Snart, Rip emerged from behind the door slamming it shut as he did so. The sound drew them up short and they swung around to look at him.

“What...?” was all the short man managed to say before Rip's right hook hit his cheek. The man made an odd, muffled yelp as his head snapped to the side.

Though his focus was on the shorter pirate, Rip was dimly aware of Snart taking on the taller one in the background and he worried about how Snart would manage to fight with his injured ankle. He wasn't able to worry long though. His punch had staggered the short man, but he hadn't gone down. Rip tried to hit him again before he recovered, but he wasn't fast enough. The man blocked Rip's punch and sent forth one of his own. Rip managed to dodge out of the way. Unfortunately, his concussion made itself known once more and the move threw him off balance. He stumbled. The pirate took advantage of that kneeing him in the stomach.

Rip fell backwards, his back colliding against a large set of shelves. Their contents clanked and rattled.

The pirate smirked at him and raised his fist.

Rip reached frantically behind him into the shelves he'd fallen against. One of his hands hit something smooth and cold and he wrapped his fingers around it.

The punch fell.

Rip blocked it with his left forearm and swung his newly acquired weapon with his right.

The weapon turned out to be a large, glass bottle which shattered against the man's head spraying its contents across both the pirate and the floor.

The pirate went down and stayed down.

Rip leaned against the shelves and let out a loud breath of relief.

“Took you long enough,” Snart called out from the other side of the room.

Gazing over, Rip was surprised to see Snart's opponent was also on the floor, unconscious or dead he wasn't sure. He wondered how Snart had managed to fight with his broken ankle, but didn't wonder long because between the concussion, the knee to his stomach, and the smell of whatever it was that had been in that bottle, Rip realized he was going to have to give in to the inevitable.

He managed to turn away and stumble towards a corner of the room before he was sick. There wasn't much to come up but bile, his last meal having been awhile ago, but it was just as unpleasant all the same. When he was done, he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He mentally added fighting pirates and throwing up to the list of things that were not an aid to the pain in his head. It was becoming quite a long list.

“If you're done puking, would you mind checking the pirates for weapons Still a gimp over here in case you've forgotten.”

Rip added the voice of Leonard Snart to the list.

Unfortunately, Snart was right. They needed to see if the pirates had anything they could use. Rip returned to the pirate he'd downed and knelt, somewhat clumsily, on the floor beside him. The search proved fruitful though not as much as he'd have liked. Each pirate had a knife on him and the taller one also had a communications device and some sort of passkey, but that was it.

“No guns?” exclaimed Snart. “What sort of idiot pirates don't carry guns with them? These must be the worst pirates ever.”

“I've certainly met better,” said Rip.

He tied up the time pirates using their own belts. It was doubtful it would hold them long but it would slow them down. The pirate Snart had taken care of was surprisingly still alive though he would be in a fair amount of pain and suffering a certain amount of blood loss when he woke up.

Rip pocketed the communicator, the passkey, and one of the knives and handed the other knife to Snart. It was slightly bigger than the one he already had and Rip was sure Snart could easily find a use for two.

Despite getting up as slowly as possible, Rip nearly ended up back on the floor when he tried to stand. He staggered over to where Snart sat on one of the larger crates and gratefully sat down beside him.

Snart had his injured foot propped up on another crate nearby and was carefully loosening the laces of his boot. Rip could see why. Leonard's foot was so swollen it was starting to strain against the leather.

“How's the ankle?” he asked.

“Great,” said Snart through gritted teeth. “I'm considering cutting it off and having your pal Gideon make me a new one.”

“There's no need to do anything quite so drastic,” said Rip. “Gideon's actually quite good with broken bones. You'll probably be on crutches for a few days but it's better than a few months.”

“Good to know.” Snart turned just enough to give him one of his lopsided smirks. “Of course, as long as I no longer have to use you as a crutch I'm happy.”

Rip snorted. “Same here.”

He pulled the communications device out of his pocket. It wasn't a kind he recognized but it should be relatively easy to figure out how it worked and tune it to the Waverider's subwave frequency. If he could reach Gideon, the signal from the device should lead the rest of the team right to them. They certainly could use their help. He and Snart were both a mess. Rip was beginning to wonder if they would have been better off waiting in the cell.

Of course, 'should' was the operative word. He should be able to retune the communications device, but his brain was refusing to cooperate. He couldn't concentrate. The steps he needed to perform kept slipping from his mind. Even his eyes were having trouble focusing on the small device in his hands.

Giving up, Rip put the device back in his pocket. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward resting his aching head in his hands.

“...couldn't be your real name,” Snart was saying. “Did you make that up when you were a kid or something?”

Rip raised his head and blinked at Snart. “Sorry, what?” he said, feeling like he'd just missed something.

Snart cocked his head at him. “Your name,” he said. “Rip Hunter. As a thief, you should've really picked something a bit more inconspicuous.”

Rip groaned. “Why are you bringing this up again? I'm not a thief, not anymore.”

“Like I said, once a thief, always a thief,” Snart replied. “And I've been talking about it for the past five minutes.”

Rip frowned at him. He didn't recall Snart saying anything until a moment ago. Had he drifted off while he’d been sitting there?

Leonard stared back, his gaze calculating. For a moment, Rip thought he saw concern in those ice blue eyes but decided he must be seeing things.

“Personally, I think you're in denial of your true nature,” Snart continued as if nothing had happened. “There's nothing wrong with being a thief. It's a time honoured profession. What was the first thing you ever stole?”

Feeling as if he were stuck in a reoccurring nightmare, Rip placed his head back in his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I honestly don't remember.”

“Come on,” said Snart, drawing out the lazy drawl in his voice. “Everyone remembers the first thing they stole.”

“I told you I don't remember,” Rip insisted with a slow shake of his aching head. “I was five. It was probably a pie or an apple from a market stall or something.”

“Mine was a box of cookies,” said Snart. “Double Stuf Oreos, my favourites. Most people would have started with something easier like a chocolate bar, but I was ambitious even as a kid.”

Rip let out a heavy sigh. “Your point being?”

“I just think it’s interesting that we both started off with food." Snart gave him another one of his self-satisfied smirks. "It seems we’re alike in more ways than one.”

The ongoing comparison was not one Rip appreciated. “Except I stole because I had no choice,” he snapped. “I was starving, living on the streets. I had nothing, nothing at all, not after...” Cutting himself off, he turned away biting his lip before he let something slip he would later regret. 

“And who says I wasn’t starving,” said Snart, matter-of-factly.

Surprised, Rip turned back. “You? But...?”

Snart shrugged. “Maybe not as much as you were, but it’s not like Mom and Dad were big on the whole grocery shopping thing. Mom was usually too drunk and Dad was usually too busy getting his ass thrown in jail. My sister and I might not have made it if I hadn’t stolen a few things here and there.”

Rip stared at him not knowing what to say. He’d known Snart had had a rough childhood, but he may very well have underestimated just how rough it had been.

“Our crappy childhoods aside,” Snart continued, “we may have both started stealing in order to survive, but it didn’t stay that way, did it?”

Rip narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you getting at?”

“Please,” said Snart. “You know what I’m talking about. The anticipation of the heist. That rush of power when you nab something. The thrill of getting away with it. Just because you were forced to start stealing doesn’t mean you didn’t learn to enjoy it. Admit it. You miss being a thief.”

Getting to his feet, Rip took a step towards Snart. “How could you think I...” he began, but his oncoming rant was interrupted by a groan from one of the bound pirates, the tall, pale man Leonard had downed.

“Would you mind?” said Snart. 

Deflating slightly, Rip went over to the pirate and delivered a swift kick to his head. The man grew silent once more.

“We need to get going,” Rip said, his anger still simmering but now mostly directed at himself, annoyed that he'd let Snart get to him. “We've already wasted too much time here.”

“Lead the way, Captain,” said Snart with a wave of his hand.

Rip glared at him, but the glare turned into a frown. Snart was looking rather pleased with himself and it left Rip with the strange feeling that he’d just missed something, again. He took ahold of Snart and they rearranged themselves into the increasingly familiar position. Snart was no longer able to put any weight on his bad ankle and was forced to hop along, but Rip carefully adjusted his stance so he could take the extra weight. Together they slowly made their way past the unconscious pirates and out of the storage room.


	3. Chapter 3

Back in the corridor, Rip and Snart headed straight for the lift, side by side in what was now their usual ungainly manner. Rip hit the panel beside the door as soon as they reached it. The panel made an odd 'blorp' noise, flashed red, and then went dark again.

Snart scowled at the uncooperative piece of machinery. “Can you rewire this one too?”

“No need.” Rip pulled the passkey from his pocket and swiped it against the panel. The panel let out a high pitched beep and glowed blue. 

“Huh,” said Snart. “I suppose those pirates were good for something after all.”

With a mechanical hum, the lift doors opened revealing a, thankfully, empty lift. They went, or in Snart's case hopped, inside. There was a standard column of buttons along one wall and Rip let Snart press the button they needed. He hit the one indicating the main floor. They had apparently been in some sort of subbasement, but judging by the number of buttons, the building itself had ten more levels above ground.

The trip up in the lift was short but tense. Both men knew just how vulnerable they were trapped in such a small space with no idea what might be on the other side of the doors when they arrived. When the lift eventually began to slow, they positioned themselves on either side of the doors so they wouldn't be visible when they opened and pulled out their knives holding them at the ready.

The lift halted and the doors slid open revealing... nothing. All they could see was a blank, gray wall a couple meters away. In unison, they poked their heads out, peering around the sides of the door, one looking left, the other right. They were in another empty corridor similar to the one below, but shorter with only a couple of doors along its length and T junctions at either end.

“These pirates really need to consider getting themselves a new interior decorator,” said Snart as he gazed at the gray metal walls.

Rip stepped out into the corridor ensuring himself that it really was as empty as it appeared. It was, but off in the distance he could hear the faint sound of voices. 

“Which way?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Left,” said Snart, gesturing with his head.

Stowing their knives, they took ahold of each other once more and headed left. Unfortunately, this took them directly to where the voices were coming from. The voices grew increasingly louder as they neared the T-junction though not enough to make out what they were saying. The pair slowed down making an attempt at being stealthy and failing completely. It wasn’t really possible to hop quietly.

Deciding to try a different tactic, Rip led Snart over to the side of the corridor. “Wait here,” he whispered.

Snart didn’t look very pleased with the idea, but he leaned against the wall and made no protest as Rip went to check the way ahead.

Rip poked his head into to the T-junction quickly scanning both left and right. Both ways were clear. To the right, the corridor ended after a few meters in a large set of double doors. To the left, the corridor went on a little further, and then abruptly turned to the right. That was where the voices were coming from.

Rip held up a hand indicating to Snart to stay where he was and headed towards the voices as quietly as he could. Reaching the turn in the corridor, he plastered himself against the wall keeping just out of sight.

“No, no, no,” came a woman's voice from around the corner. “The Aurora, not the Nautilus, you idiot. The Aurora's the one we blew in half. The Nautilus got away.”

“I thought the Aurora was the one we set to crash into Io,” said another female voice.

“That was the Ikenga,” a man replied, his tone growing dark with sinister amusement as he continued. “Thought you'd remember that one after all the fun we had with her captain.”

There was a round of laughter.

Rip gritted his teeth. They were talking about time ships, boasting about what they'd done to them. Rip might be at odds with the Time Council, but that didn't mean he held any ill will towards the other Time Master captains. Some of them he'd fought beside. A few he'd even considered his friends.

“What about our new acquisitions?” asked the second woman. “Think they'll give up their ship?”

“Let them stew a day or two,” said the man. “If they don't by then, we can have some fun with them too.”

More laughter followed.

At least that explained why he and Snart were still alive, thought Rip, not wanting to think about what the pirates considered fun.

“Not worried about those friends of theirs?” asked the first woman.

There was a loud snort. “The others should have taken care of them by now,” said the man.

Rip's jaw tightened again as he prayed that wasn't true.

One of the pirates made a sound of disgust. It was followed by the sound of something shattering, a bottle, most likely, thrown against a wall. The sound was so sudden and so close it almost made Rip jump. He forced himself to stay still wincing as his already thudding heart beat wildly echoed by a pounding in his head.

“Where are Rach and Moko with that fucking grog?” cried a man's voice, a different one this time.

Rach and Moko must be the pirates they'd tied up, Rip realized. He really hoped the others didn't decide to go looking for them. 

Having heard enough and not wanting to leave the injured Snart alone too long, Rip snuck back along the corridor. He found Snart still leaning against the wall where he'd left him.

“There's a least four of them,” Rip whispered as he reached him, "just around a turn in the corridor.”

“Great,” Snart grumbled.

“Please tell me that's not the way we need to go.”

“I could but I don't think you'd appreciate me lying to you.”

Rip gave him an exasperated look. “Is there another way around?”

Snart returned the look with one of his own. “They didn't exactly give me a guided tour of the place,” he said. “We need to find some way of getting them to leave.”

Rip rubbed his hand against the back of his neck as he tried to think of a plan. Their current resources were annoyingly limited. He scanned the corridor once more searching for something they could use and took note of the two doors. He left Snart once more and went over and tried them. The first door led, as the overwhelming smell quickly told him, to a small washroom. The pirates were obviously not big on cleanliness or hygiene. The second door led to a staircase going up and down. Rip stared at it thoughtfully and then looked back at the corridor. The entrance to the lift was near the opposite end of the corridor from the one near the pirates. He went over and used the passkey to open it again. Since no one else had summoned the lift, the doors opened quickly. Rip watched, counting the seconds, as they shut.

He knew what to do. He had a plan. It was just a matter of timing.

Snart was watching him with narrowed eyes as he returned. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

“Quite possibly,” said Rip. 

“Think you’re quick enough?” asked Snart, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess we’ll see.” He took a hold of Snart and began leading him towards the first of the doors, the one that led to the washroom. “But for it to work, I need you to hide in here.”

Snart made a face as the smell hit him. “No, thanks. I think can hold it in until we get back to the Waverider.”

Rip almost growled in frustration. “Snart, will you just...”

Snart waved a hand in the air. “I got it. I got it,” he said. “I hide in here while you go do something stupid and reckless.” He grabbed a hold of the doorway and hopped into the washroom. “You'd better not abandon me here, that's all.”

“I told you before I am not leaving you behind,” Rip replied, tiredly and with complete sincerity. “You'll just have to trust me.”

“Trust goes both ways,” was Snart's pointed reply before he shut the washroom door.

Rip didn't have the time or the energy to decipher Snart's statement. He headed back to where the pirates were gathered. They were arguing again when he reached them, debating what to plunder once they had the Waverider. They sounded fairly drunk which Rip knew could only be to his advantage. His plan counted on him being fast and their reactions being slow. Standing just out of sight, he took a moment to gather himself before sauntering around the corner with an air of casual confidence.

The time pirates didn't even notice him at first giving Rip a chance to quickly appraise them. The room appeared to be some sort of den. The pirates, dressed mainly in dark and tattered leather, were lounging around in an eclectic collection of chairs and sofas apparently gathered from various periods of history. The chairs were arranged around a low coffee table which was covered, along with a good portion of the floor, with a large variety of empty and half-empty bottles, glasses, and containers of food.

Two other important things Rip couldn't help noticing: one, there were five pirates not four, and two, these ones, unlike those below. were armed with blasters.

Taking a deep breath, Rip cleared his throat as loudly as he could.

The pirates stopped arguing and swung their heads towards him. Rip took a fair amount of pleasure at seeing the shock appear in their widening eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said as if he'd made a simple mistake. “I seem to have taken a wrong turning somewhere.”

He didn't bother giving them anymore time to gather their wits. He immediately turned around and began racing back down the corridor.

Behind him, he heard several shouts, the scraping of chairs, and the shattering of at least one more bottle. He knew it wouldn't be long before there would also be the sound of running feet and firing blasters, but he had already turned back into the main corridor. 

He passed the washroom where Snart was hiding. He passed the door leading to the stairs and came to the lift slapping the passkey against the control panel. The moment the doors were open wide enough, he reached his arm through towards the column of buttons and hit the one at the very top. Once that was done, he exited the lift and sprinted down the corridor once more only just making it around the corner when he heard the stampeding of heavy boots. He leaned against the wall breathing heavily and praying he'd got the timing right.

A blaster fired, and for a moment, Rip thought one of the pirates had spotted him turn the corner, but then one of them shouted, “The elevator!”

“He's going up!” cried another.

“Why the hell's he going up?”

“I don't know.”

“Maybe he thinks he can contact his ship from the roof.”

“Fucking Time Master.”

“The stairs, you idiots! The stairs! We can still catch him.”

The sound of a door being yanked open was heard followed by boots pounding up the stairs. The noise slowly died away and Rip let out a loud sigh of relief. 

Turning back into the now vacant corridor, he headed for Snart's hiding spot. He'd only taken a few steps though when the world began going in and out of focus and a buzzing started in his ears. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself before he fell. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for the symptoms to pass and they did. He continued on down the corridor and had almost reached the room where Snart was hiding when it happened again. He grabbed hold of the wall for support.

Apparently running with a concussion had not been a great idea.

The door to the washroom opened and Snart peered out. “I heard you lead our pirates on a merry chase,” he said. “They'll be back soon though and pretty pissed off when they realize what you've done.”

“Well,” said Rip, somewhat breathlessly as he leaned against the wall. “Hopefully, they'll also be rather tired out from running up ten flights of stairs.”

Snart frowned at Rip, and then using the wall as support, hopped over to where he stood. “No, you don't,” he said. “Not again. Don't you dare pass out now.”

Rip gave a humourless chuckle. “I might not have much of a choice.” The world was still blurring in and out, and the pain in his head was reaching a peak. Knees weakening, he began to pitch forward but Snart caught him and held him up.

“Yeah, well, I'm not giving you a choice either,” Leonard countered, hands clutching tightly to the front of Rip's shirt. “Come on, you little cutpurse. I need you to get me out of here.”

Rip was hunched over, eyes squeezed shut as the pain in his head became all-encompassing and things around him threatened to fade away, but he heard what Snart said and somewhere in the depths of himself found the strength to grind out, slowly and deliberately, “Don't call me that.”

“Why not? It's the truth,” said Snart. “We've already established you're no hero. Not that I didn't already know that. I've met heroes and you're nothing compared with them.”

Rip slowly opened his eyes and glared up at Snart. “Sorry," he said. "I wasn't aware this was a competition."

Snart sneered back at him. “If it was, you'd come in last. You're way too selfish to be a hero.”

“If you call fighting to save my family selfish, then, yes, I suppose I am,” Rip declared wishing he knew what the hell Snart wanted from him.

“At the expense of everyone else including your own crew,” Snart pointed out. “Why don't you just admit the truth? You're a thieving crook and a selfish bastard just like me.”

Rip pushed himself away from Snart, standing up straight once more. “I am not like you,” he snapped. “Yes, I admit it. I'm no hero. I've done horrible things in my past. I've made decisions based on cold calculations instead of the goodness of my heart and I may very well go to hell for some of my actions, but I am not like you, Mr. Snart, and you know why? Because I care about something other than myself. I care about keeping the world and the timeline safe. I care about my family, and though you may not believe it, I care about my crew.” He took a deep breath unable to stop as the words continued to pour out of him. “And I'm not like you because despite my dark past, I am trying to be a better person. I am trying to do the right thing. I may not always succeed, but at least, I'm trying. And... and...”

Something finally made Rip's tirade draw to a halt. It was the way Snart was looking at him. He couldn’t quite decipher the expression, but it wasn't one you'd expect from someone who was getting yelled at. Snart seemed almost... relieved. Frowning, Rip thought back over recent events and things slowly clicked into place in his concussion muddied mind. 

“You're... you're doing this on purpose,” he said with disbelief. 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Snart replied, dismissively.

Rip felt like kicking himself for not figuring things out sooner. “This whole bleeding time you've been badgering me, trying to provoke me, make me angry.” He shook his head. “And you've been doing it on purpose, riling me up in order to keep me conscious.”

Leonard inclined his head. “Would I seriously do a thing like that?” he said, his attempt at an innocent tone ruined by the glimmer of amusement in his eyes and the small twitch at the corner of his lips.

Rip stared at him in shock unable to decide if he should be grateful or infuriated. The world seemed to have shifted under his feet and this time the concussion wasn’t to blame. He had thought he was the one desperately trying to help an ungrateful, injured teammate. Now it seemed like it was the other way around.

“Well, it's working, isn't it?” Snart said with a shrug. "Adrenaline is a wonderful thing."

“I thought you were just being a pain in the ass,” said Rip, shaking his head again.

Snart's lips spread into a familiar smirk. “I didn’t say I wasn't enjoying it,” he said. “And now since you’re no longer about to keel over, how about we get out of here before those pirates get back.

Rip wanted to say more but Leonard was right. The pirates would be back soon and they needed to get their weapons and get out of there as soon as possible. Rip wrapped his arm around Snart and began helping him down the corridor. They were actually getting fairly good at their unusual, lopsided walk and dropped naturally back into the rhythm of it, Rip supporting Snart's weight as he hopped along. They were able to move much more quickly than they had at the start and made it through the corridor and into the little lounge area without any sight or sound of the pirates.

The time pirate's den seemed even messier without its former occupants. They had obviously scattered more than a few of their bottles and half-finished drinks in their haste to retrieve their escaped prisoner. Now that Rip had a chance to get a better look at the room, he noticed that it contained three doors leading out to the rest of the building. 

“That's the way out,” said Snart gesturing to the door ahead of them. “And that's where the guy went with our weapons,” he added gesturing to the door on the right.

It was tempting to make straight for the exit, but if the pirates caught up with them or if, as was very likely, the exit was guarded, they were dead.

Rip tugged Snart towards the right and the man followed along. 

Upon opening the door, Rip had really been hoping to find an armoury with not only their weapons but a few convenient extras to help them with the pirates, like maybe a grenade or two. What they found was some sort of workshop. Tools and bits of machinery covered everything including several shelves, some workbenches, the floor, and the walls. There was even some hanging from the ceiling. Apparently, the pirates exercised the same attitude to cleanliness there as they did everywhere else.

Both Rip and Snart scanned the room for any sign of their weapons. It was Snart who first spotted the lamentable sight.

“Those fucking bastards,” he exclaimed.

Rip followed his gaze and saw the Coldgun. It sat on a cleared space on one of the workbenches in several pieces.

They went over and Snart began going over the parts, scowling the entire time. “Idiots," he cursed again.

“Is it damaged?” Rip asked as he gazed about the room, hoping to spot his revolver, hoping that unlike the Coldgun it would still be intact. 

“I don't think so,” said Snart as he began slotting the pieces back together. “I think they just took it apart to see how it works.”

Rip watched him admiring how deftly his fingers moved as he fixed the weapon. “Think you can put it back together before the pirates get back?”

“Maybe," Leonard said with a shrug. "Depends on how fast they are.”

“Oh, we're pretty fast,” said a rough voice from behind them.

Abandoning the dismembered Coldgun, they spun around, eyes wide with alarm.

Suddenly, Rip knew exactly where his revolver was. “Bollocks," he sighed.


	4. Chapter 4

Rip’s revolver was currently in the hands of a large, brutish man with tanned skin and thinning hair, wearing a long, black coat. The time pirate, for there was no doubt he was one, had cocked the revolver and was happily pointing it right at Rip who glowered back at him. Flanking the man on either side were two women, one tall and pale with frizzy, red hair and a scar down her cheek, the other Asian with short, black hair that stuck strait up in the air. The women also had blasters aimed at Rip and Snart. 

“Well, well, well,” said the man, smugly. “It seems I was right.” He turned his head to address his fellow pirates. “I told you guys it was a trick.” Turning back, he took a step towards Rip, a sneer spreading across his face. “Did you really think we were dumb enough to fall for your little ruse?”

“You seriously want us to answer that question?” said Snart contemptuously as if he weren’t the least bit intimidated by the pirates or their weapons.

The pirate cocked his head to the side contemplating Snart, studying him in an all too malevolent manner, before turning back to Rip. “You’re the captain, right? I’m not too sure about your friend here, but I know what you are. I can tell a time master a mile off. They always have a certain cold arrogance about them.”

“I am,” said Rip watching the man warily. “And you’re not.” Rip didn’t know who this man was. He wasn’t one of the many time pirates he’d tangled with before, but just like the man could tell that he was a time master, Rip knew this man wasn’t the one in charge.

The pirate snorted seeming almost impressed. “That’s true,” he admitted. “The Captain is busy elsewhere. I’m her second in command. Balam, at your service.” He bowed his head giving a theatric twirl of his hand. “And you are?”

Rip debated momentarily whether or not to give his real name, but then figured it couldn’t make things any worse. “Captain Rip Hunter,” he declared.

Balam grinned maliciously and the other pirates looked equally gleeful. “My oh my,” he said. “The Captain was right. Rip Hunter. This certainly makes things interesting.”

Or maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea, thought Rip wincing internally.

“I know a lot of people who’d love to get their hands on you,” said Balam, thoughtfully. “But I think we’ll keep you for ourselves. It’ll be quite the boost to our reputation.”

“I’m so glad to be of service,” said Rip with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Balam chuckled, more amused than intimidated by Rip's defiant attitude. “It seems the two of you have been rather busy and here I thought I’d tucked you up so nicely down in your little cell. Didn’t you like your accommodations?”

“It was a little dull,” said Rip. 

“Not to mention cramped,” added Snart.

“Don’t worry,” said Balam, “we’ll put you somewhere much more interesting this time, full of stuff I’m sure will keep you entertained.” He drew out the last word, his lips sliding into a sinister smile. The women flanking him laughed. 

Rip rolled his eyes. These pirates certainly loved their dramatics.

“You were busy napping when we brought you in,” Balam continued. “Now that you’re awake, there’s a certain ship we really must talk about.”

Rip glared at him. “You don’t actually believe I’ll give up the Waverider.”

“After a little persuasion,” the Asian woman said.

“We’re very good at persuasion,” said the redhead.

Snart tilted his head towards Rip. “They really enjoy their little insinuations,” he said.

“I’ve noticed,” Rip replied before addressing the pirates once more. “Could we dispense with the thinly veiled threats and just get on with things?”

Some of the smugness fell away from Balam’s face and his tone grew colder. “Oh, I’ll be sure to describe what we’re going to do to you in graphic detail before we get started. After all, they do say the anticipation of pain is worse than the actual thing, and the actual thing... Well, I do so love a good scream.”

The dark look in the man’s eyes sent a cold shiver down Rip’s spine. He gritted his teeth though and refused to let it show.

“Maybe if you tell us what you did with Moko and Rach,” Balam continued. “I'll go a little easier on you. Maybe,” he added with a shrug.

Showing no sign of being even the slightest bit concerned by the threats, Snart turned to look at Rip with a raised eyebrow.

“I assume he means our friends from the store room,” Rip explained.

“Ah,” Snart said in understanding; then turned back to the pirates. “They're a little tied up at the moment. You know you should really remind your fellow pirates to keep their blasters with them at all times.”

The woman with the red hair looked disbelievingly at Snart. “You're giving us advice?”

“You could obviously use some,” was Snart's snide reply. “Our escape was way too easy. Training your members better would be a start. You might also want to look into improving your security.”

“And perhaps hiring a cleaning service,” Rip couldn’t help adding.

“That too,” Snart agreed with a nod.

None of the pirates seemed to find this amusing. 

Balam scowled at them. “You won’t be so flippant when the Captain gets back. She’ll take care of you. Talk like that to her and she’ll cut out your tongues, and you’ll be lucky if that’s the only thing she cuts off. One minute with her and she’ll have you...”

Rip barely listened as the pirate continued his tirade. Surreptitiously as possible, he bent his knees letting his weight sink down into the balls of his feet as his gaze flickered in the direction of Snart. Their eyes met and Leonard gave the tiniest of nods.

Balam was still talking, waxing eloquently on just what their captain would do to them, when Rip sprang towards him. 

Rip’s left arm knocked the man’s right arm up. Balam reacted automatically pulling the trigger on the revolver, but it was now pointing up so all it did was blast the ceiling causing sparks to rain down upon them. Almost in the same instant, Rip brought his right arm around to punch the pirate squarely in the jaw snapping his head back and disorienting him. Rip followed this up with a kick to Balam’s stomach deliberately pushing him in the direction of the Asian woman who was just bringing her blaster to bear on him. 

Balam collided with his cohort knocking the blaster out of her hand and knocking her back against a wall. Rip saw her head slam painfully against the surface and watched her crumple to floor hopefully out for the near future. Balam definitely wasn’t out. He still looked a bit disoriented but he was already pulling himself together and glaring at Rip. He had also, unfortunately, managed to keep ahold of Rip’s revolver.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rip saw Snart fighting with the other woman. He’d seen Snart throw something at her while he’d been fighting Balam and then leap towards her. Now Snart was struggling with the pirate trying to get ahold of her blaster. Rip had no idea how he was managing to do so with only one working foot. He seemed to be using the woman to hold himself up. Rip saw them fall to the floor before he was forced to redirect his attention to his own opponent.

Balam fired at Rip and he only just managed to dodge out of the way in time. The blue blast of light sizzled through the air only centimetres from him, close enough for Rip to feel the heat of its passage.

Rip dived towards the pirate hoping to get his revolver back. He managed to get his fingers around it, but Balam’s grip was seemingly unbreakable and he used Rip’s hold on the gun to his advantage. He swung the gun around yanking Rip along with it.

The swing threw Rip against a workbench. His back collided painfully against the edge of the table knocking the wind out of him, but he kept ahold of the gun. He had to. Not only was it his only chance of getting the weapon back, it was the only way of keeping Balam from firing at him again. 

Balam didn’t seemed to mind that Rip still held the gun. He just smirked evilly, and then before Rip could get himself in a better position, swung his arm around in the opposite direction putting all of his weight behind it.

This time Rip collided with a wall and he collided head first. It wasn’t a bad blow. Rip let go of the gun in time to get his arm up in between him and the wall so it could absorb some of the impact, but when combined with his previous head injury, it was enough.

Rip’s vision flashed white, pain echoing through his skull as his head rebounded off the wall. Time seemed to slow down and everything grew silent and distant. 

Rip suddenly became aware that he was lying on his back on the floor though he couldn’t remember falling. He blinked and the world swam blurrily in front of him. There was noise, people talking, but it sounded as if he were underwater. He just wanted to lie there, close his eyes and give in to the numb darkness, but something stopped him. The people were still talking. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but somehow he knew it was important. He pushed against the pull of unconsciousness, forced his mind to focus.

“You know the only person we really need is your Captain,” a rough voice was saying. “You’re just extra baggage, dispensable.”

Balam, the time pirate second in command, Rip realized recalling the perilous situation he was still in.

“You might not find me so easy to dispense with,” growled a second voice.

And that was Snart.

Struggling, Rip turned towards the voices, rolling over onto his side and pushing himself up onto his elbow. He almost sank right back down on to the floor. The pounding in his head had grown all encompassing and the world was spinning so badly he momentarily wondered if someone had messed with the gravity. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for the moment to pass. When things had stabilized, at least a little, he opened his eyes again and peered across the room squinting as he tried to force the blurry world into focus.

The first thing Rip saw was Balam standing with his back to him, revolver pointing at something on the ground.

The second thing Rip saw was Snart lying directly in the pirate’s line of fire. 

Leonard was across the room, crumpled on the floor among the pieces of what might have once been a ship’s life support system. His arm was wrapped around his torso as if in pain, his useless leg sticking out in front of him as he scowled up at the pirate. To most he would seem completely unintimidated by his current vulnerable position, but Rip caught a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Balam snorted at Snart’s bravado. “You do realize which one of us has the gun and which one of us is lying helpless on the floor?”

Snart sneered at him and said snidely, “I also realize which one of us just escaped from being tied up and locked away in a cell and which is the idiot who let their prisoners escape.”

Rip scanned the room for something he could use, some weapon. He sought out the other pirates, the women. They were both down. The Asian woman he’d taken out was still prone on the floor near the door and the redhead lay half-a-dozen feet from Snart with a knife in her abdomen. Both of their blasters sat near their bodies. Unfortunately, they were also both in Balam’s line of sight. 

It seemed hopeless, but then Rip remembered the knife he had taken off the pirate in the store room. He reached into his jacket. It was still there. He wrapped his hand around the hilt, and slowly, began pushing himself to his knees. The world almost slipped away from him once more as he did so. He bent over breathing heavily, feeling shaky and ill. He wondered how the hell he was supposed to fight when it didn’t look like he’d even be able to make it to his feet.

“I suppose I could always use you as leverage in order to get your Captain to give us what we want,” Balam mused.

Snart scoffed. “Good luck with that. You’re even more of an idiot if you think he cares anything about my life. He certainly wouldn’t trade his precious ship for me.”

Snart was bluffing. Rip really, really hoped Snart was bluffing, but he couldn’t help feeling that there was more than a little belief behind what he'd said, and for once, he couldn’t blame Leonard for feeling that way. He had failed too many times as a captain, done too little to earn the man’s, or any of his crew’s, trust, and now he was doing it again. 

Balam shrugged. “Doesn’t matter," he said. "I’d much rather just shoot you anyway.” And he cocked the gun at Snart.

Leonard stared up at the pirate, defiant and angry and, though he tried to hide it, just that little bit scared.

Rip’s heart began to pound, a rushing sounded in his ears, and suddenly before he knew it, he was on his feet. The next moment he had reached the pirate, wrapped his arms around him, and had the blade of his knife pressed up against his neck.

“Give me back my gun now,” Rip demanded, his voice as cold as the deepest reaches of space.

Balam’s body stiffened and he made a surprised noise which was half grunt, half squeak. “Ah, Captain Hunter,” he gasped in a strangled tone. “We were just talking about you.”

“My gun,” Rip repeated.

Instead of relinquishing the weapon, Balam waved it in the direction of Snart. “We seem to be in a bit of a stalemate, unless you really think you can kill me before I have a chance to get a shot off at your friend.”

Rip pressed the knife closer to Balam’s neck, close enough to draw blood. “If you so much as singe a single hair on my friend’s head,” said Rip calling on a dark predatory nature he’d buried long ago, “I will find out just how slowly I can sever your head from your neck with this knife. Now give me back my gun.” He said the last slowly emphasizing every word.

Balam’s shoulders slumped and he gave a frustrated growl as he handed over the revolver.

As soon as Rip had ahold of the gun, he shoved the pirate away from him and away from Snart. 

Balam stumbled forward several steps but then righted himself and spun to glare at Rip. “If you think you’ve won, you’re wrong,” he snapped. “You’re not getting out of here alive. The rest of the crew will be back any moment now, and when the Captain gets here, she’ll have both of you...”

Rip didn’t bother letting him finish. He simply raised his recently retrieved revolver and fired.

The pirate collapsed onto the floor either unconscious or dead. Rip wasn’t sure what power setting the pirate had left his revolver on and he couldn’t say he cared.

“Well, what do you know,” said Leonard, a hint of wonder in his voice.

Rip swung his head back towards him, stumbling slightly as the sudden movement made him dizzy. “What?” he said frowning in confusion.

Snart smiled an amused smile. “That was quite some threat you made on my behalf. You even called me your friend. I’m seriously touched.”

“That was just the concussion talking,” said Rip with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Oh, no,” said Leonard. “You like me. You really like me.”

Rip groaned wondering just what he had gotten himself into. He was about to deny Snart’s assertion once more, not even sure why he was doing so, when a loud crash came from outside the room. The crash was followed by several voices shouting and the sound of blaster fire. The pirates had shut the door to the workshop when they’d entered most likely to deter their rediscovered prisoners from escaping. This meant their view of what was going on outside was blocked, but whatever it was it didn’t sound good.

“Do you ever get the feeling,” said Snart as he crawled along the floor towards the redheaded pirate and her fallen blaster, “you must have pissed off someone really powerful in a former life.” He grabbed the blaster and charged it up.

“All the bloody time,” Rip replied as he levelled his revolver at the closed door.

The sounds of battle grew louder; then suddenly the door blew open falling off its hinges amongst a cloud of fire and smoke. 

A figure strode forward through the gray haze. 

Rip tightened his finger on the trigger preparing to fire. From the floor, Leonard levelled his blaster.

And then the figure resolved itself into the red and blue form of Dr. Raymond Palmer in his Atom suit.

Rip stared at him in astonishment.

Ray’s face immediately lit up with a grin. “Hey, I found them,” he called out.

Snart rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Now they show up.”

“How the hell...” said Rip as he let his revolver fall to his side.

“It’s a long story actually,” said Ray. “When you two disappeared, we...”

“You can tell them later,” said Sara as she pushed past him into the room, her eyes quickly taking in the scene. “Are you guys okay?”

“Wonderful,” grumbled Leonard. “Get us out of here.”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “Really? Because you two...”

“Look like shit,” Mick finished for her as he joined them.

“Great to see you too, Mick,” said Snart. “What took you so long?”

Sara snorted. “That’s nice,” she said as she walked over to where Snart sat. “Maybe next time we’ll just leave you guys to fend for yourselves.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Leonard.

Smiling, Sara bent down and pulled Snart to his feet, or rather foot. Leonard placed an arm across her shoulders apparently quite happy to lean against her and let her take his weight, a lot happier than he had been with Rip. A sparkle seemed to echo from one set of eyes to the other as they gazed at each other.

When had that happened, Rip wondered, but he was beginning to realize there was more than a few things he had overlooked when it came to Mr. Snart. He blinked as his vision began to swim and he was suddenly very aware of the sharp ache in his head once more. He felt himself sway slightly.

Leonard turned his gaze to Rip, a worried look in his eyes. “Not again,” he said, wearily. “Would one of you catch Rip. I’ve already done my fair share of catching today.”

Rip scowled and opened his mouth about to say something about just who had been holding up who, but the darkness was starting to creep along the edges of his vision once more. His revolver fell from his numb fingers clattering against the floor as the world vanished around him and he sank into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short epilogue left. Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments. They really mean a lot to me.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Rip became aware of was that he was lying on something uncomfortable, something uncomfortable but familiar. It wasn’t until he recognized the ever-present background hum of the Waverider that he realized where he was. Medbay. He groaned reminding himself for the hundredth time to get better beds for the place. It was bad enough being ill or injured, but being ill or injured and having to lie on something equivalent to a late twentieth century dentist chair was a cruel and unusual punishment.

“Just so you know I still don’t like you,” drawled the voice of Leonard Snart from his right.

Speaking of cruel and unusual punishments, thought Rip. Was there no escaping this man? 

Rip slowly opened his eyes and was rewarded with the rather dull sight of the medbay ceiling. Turning his head in the direction of Snart’s voice, he found the man sitting up on the other bed, his right foot carefully propped up, an old, battered paperback lying on his lap.

“In case you weren’t clear after the whole saving my life thing,” Leonard elaborated.

Rip cleared his throat. It felt as if it were full of desert sand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something to drink, or to eat for that matter. At least the pain in his head was now a distant, muted thing. Thank God for Gideon and her painkillers.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked, his low, scratchy voice barely audible.

Ignoring the question, Snart pointed to a small table beside Rip’s bed and said, “Have some water. You sound like Al Pacino.”

Glancing over, Rip spotted a cup on the table, the end of a straw hanging over its brim. “Gideon,” he croaked.

He couldn’t get much more past his parched throat. Fortunately, Gideon knew him well enough to understand his unvoiced request. The bed Rip was lying on slowly began to tilt up until he was in a seated position. The change to vertical left him feeling a little light-headed but didn’t send the whole room reeling so Rip considered it a vast improvement.

“May I say how glad I am to see you awake,” said the A.I. in her usual cheerful tone as Rip reached over to grab the cup.

“Thank you, Gideon,” said Rip once he’d had a sip of water, the cool liquid tasting like ambrosia to his dry throat. “Status,” he added, his standard request whenever he’d been unconscious for any period of time.

“We are currently stationed in the temporal zone. All systems are functional. All crew members are accounted for and, with the exception of Mr. Snart and yourself, unharmed. You were unconscious for approximately 37 hours and 26 minutes.”

Rip’s eyes widened. “37 hours!” he exclaimed.

“It's true,” said Snart. “You’ve been lazing around for over a day. The others made a big fuss over you. Something about some bleeding in your brain.” He added a vague gesture to the last as if it were nothing more than a scraped knee. “They were worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

“But not you?” said Rip, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah,” said Snart and gave him a lopsided smirk. “I knew you were too much of a vicious bastard to let something as small as a crack on the head kill you.”

Rip wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, so instead asked, “How’s your ankle?”

Snart flexed the injured limb in question. “Oh, Gideon fixed it up,” he said. “I have to stay off it for another day, but apparently, I’ll be dancing in no time.”

“You dance?”

“I could if I wanted to.”

Rolling his eyes, Rip reached over and placed his cup of water back on the table. Even that small, simple action left him feeling worn out. Apparently, he still had some healing to do. Gideon could do amazing things with the equipment in medbay but she couldn’t fix everything. Some things still just took time. Rip felt like he could sleep another 37 hours though a shower would be nice first. He was pretty disgusting. Gazing down at himself, he noted he had been stripped of his boots and his jacket but still wore his clothes. Someone had draped a blanket over him. He plucked at it absently as his mind began going through recent events. Some of the things that had happened while they’d been guests of the pirates were admittedly somewhat blurry thanks to his concussion, and apparent subdural hematoma, but he could still recall the important bits including the rather odd conversations he’d had with Mr. Snart and the surprising reason behind them.

“I’d like to thank you, Leonard,” Rip found himself saying, his use of the man’s first name sounding strange even to his own ears.

Having returned to his book, Snart looked up and gazed quizzically at Rip.

“For what you did in that place,” Rip explained. He never had found out what the place truly was or had been before the pirates took it over. “Helping me to keep going, even if your methods were rather unorthodox. I’m afraid I was in rather a bad state back there.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Snart. “Seriously, don’t.” 

“Still, I want you to know...” Rip began but Snart interrupted.

“Look, I don’t know what you think I did,” said Snart, irately, staring at him with surprising intensity in his eyes, “but I only did it because you were my ticket out of there, no other reason.” Cocking his head to the side, he added, “Unless you count the pure joy of pissing you off.”

Rip was taken aback and wondered if he would ever really understand the man who was Leonard Snart.

Leonard meanwhile seemed to gather himself letting out a loud exhale and momentarily closing his eyes before saying, “Technically I suppose I should be thanking you.”

This time it was Rip who looked quizzical.

“You know,” Snart continued, “the whole saving my life thing.”

Rip recalled the moment, recalled the sickeningly familiar feel of the knife in his hand and the cold savagery he’d let take over him. “About that, I’d rather you not mention to the rest of the team...”

“The fact you threatened to slice a guy’s head off with a knife,” Snart finished for him.

Rip winced at Snart’s callous description of events. “Yes, that.”

Leonard waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t go blabbing to anyone.”

“I appreciate it,” Rip said, gratefully.

“The others wouldn’t understand anyway. Mick would. Sara might, but the rest... They’re not like us. They’re not...”

“Criminals?” said Rip, feeling like they were going back down a familiar road.

“Survivors,” said Leonard.

Survivors. Rip mulled the word over in his head. He rather preferred that label to thief if Leonard was going to insist on comparing the two of them. And it was true. They had both been through turbulent childhoods that could have easily broken them and survived, came out the other side more or less intact. Rip gazed at Leonard, thoughtfully. He might not ever truly understand Snart but he was beginning to get an inkling. 

“I should also apologize,” he said. “I was wrong when I said you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Snart didn’t seem to appreciate the apology anymore than the thank you. He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Says who?” 

“I’m not blind,” said Rip with an amused chuckle. “Even if you hadn’t proven it several times over in fighting for the team, it’s rather obvious by the way you act around Mr. Rory and Ms. Lance.” He gazed knowingly at Leonard as he added the last.

“Gideon clearly missed some brain damage,” Leonard grumbled, looking uncommonly uncomfortable.

“It’s not a bad thing, you know,” Rip said softly, “caring about people.”

Snart snorted and shook his head. “If you really believe that, you’re more deluded than I thought.”

“Love is not a weakness and it’s not a threat,” said Rip, and with a quiet sigh added, “A very wise woman taught me that a long time ago.” He still hoped to see that woman again some day though that hope seemed to be growing less and less as time went by.

“If you say so.” Leonard’s fingers tapped restlessly on the cover of his book. “I suppose I was wrong too," he added somewhat reluctantly. "You do care about your crew.” His eyes were calculating as he leveled his gaze at Rip. “Of course, the question is whether or not you care about them as much as that family of yours.”

Rip wished he knew the answer to that question, wished he knew just how much further into the dark his mission would take him. Would it lead him all the way back to the child who would do almost anything just to survive? He had already done so much that before he wouldn’t have even been able to conceive of, turned his back on nearly everything he’d once believed in. What he might end up doing even he couldn’t say. At least, he now had Mr. Snart to remind him of just how far he could fall.

“That’s the one thing about caring I should warn you about,” he said to Snart, “if we really are as alike as you claim.” 

“And what’s that, Rip,” said Leonard, wryly.

Rip gave him a tired smile. “You may find yourself surprised by just what you’re willing to do for those you love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done. This is supposed to take place before the last few episodes so I could only takes things so far before it goes too off canon but I really hope it was a satisfying ending. It kind of went in a direction I didn't quite expect. This story has done that a lot. It was supposed to be a short 3000 or so word story about Rip and Snart having a conversation and finding some common ground while stuck in a prison cell, but then Snart of course had to escape, and then I thought it would be fun to give Rip a concussion and Snart a broken ankle making it a very interesting escape, and then Snart surprised me by having a reason behind the conversation they were having and it was to help Rip; then Rip here at the end surprised me by going all fatherly on Snart and giving him advice. Will definitely have to write more about the two of them interacting some day. Thanks again for all the kudos and reviews.


End file.
